I guess I wasn’t prepared for Zagreb. Robert Kaplan starts out his beautiful travelogue/history Balkan Ghosts in Zagreb. It’s his jumping-off point into the depths of the Balkans, and I think he started it there since Zagreb is one of those places with a foot in both worlds. It perches on a crossroads, and often in the crosshairs. It identifies itself closely with Europe, and it’s very close to Vienna in particular, and yet it’s pulled on the other side by other forces. It spent decades behind the Iron Curtain, so time has stood still a little bit. It’s the capital of Croatia, and yet it’s not really a tourist hub, not like the coastline is. There are multiple tensions in Zagreb, as well as a sense that this is a country haunted by its past, in particular its WWII past. Zagreb is an old-world city and Kaplan describes it as evocative, poetic, almost like it should be seen in black-and-white. He writes about the famous two-spired Cathedral of Zagreb, and its dark mysterious interior, its unknowability, the history of centuries contained within it. This is a Catholic country, and they do not mess around. It’s serious. Anyway, what can I say, Kaplan’s book made an impression, for sure (I brought it with me to Croatia), but Zagreb hadn’t been high on my list though. Not compared to Split, at least. My focus had been on the Dalmatian Coast. One can only do so much in a short period of time. But Zagreb was the discovery. I wasn’t there long. Not even a full day. But I fell so in love with it that I was saying AS we were walking around, “Oh my God, I have to come back.”

I’m not sure I will be able to point to what exactly it was about Zagreb that was so special.

It’s not just about what we saw. It’s about the feeling, the feeling in the streets, its vibe and mood, its atmosphere. The architecture, too, a mix of Grand Budapest Hotel, medieval walls, Gothic spires, 70s-era Yugoslav blocky highrises, and Hapsburg-faded-elegance. Like I said, even though it is a busy metropolitan city, it feels like time has stopped.

As we approached from the outskirts, Davor was pointing out to us what we were looking at – the upper city (medieval) on the hill and the lower city (Hapsburg). The outskirts are lined with those 70s-era Soviet-style high-rises, built for workers. Ante expressed some nostalgia for socialism. “You need a bigger apartment, they get you one!” The buildings are as ugly as all the books say. Davor said, “They thought it looked modern, you know,’ he said, waving his hand at a phalanx of those buildings, surrounded by grassy areas. (Side note: there’s a huge graffiti culture in Zagreb, and it drove Davor crazy. A beautiful old building will be restored, whitewashed, and the next morning its walls will be defaced.) These Soviet buildings were literally covered in graffiti. There were huge beautiful parks, gigantic trees, a space of quiet, shade, rest. Once we got into Zagreb proper, you felt the Hapsburg presence: these huge curlicue-wedding-cake buildings, painted yellow, or green, or light pink, with enormous windows, just extraordinary-looking buildings. It was around 4 p.m. The sun was starting its descent. We ended up hitting Zagreb at just the right moment for Magic Hour.

Davor dropped us off at our hotel, which was very Grand Budapest in its interior, although the hotel was modern. It felt like we were in a berth in an ocean liner, circa 1911. Beautiful. We were exhausted, but we freshened up, and went back down to meet up with Davor. Time to explore Zagreb.

First impression: Zagreb was a very good walking city. The streets were filled with people coming home from work, hanging out, having drinks (it was already too chilly to sit outside). Davor wanted to show us upper Zagreb, the medieval section of town. You can walk up there, of course, but he took us to the funicular station, saying, laughing, “This is known as the shortest funicular in Europe.” Much hilarity. It is a 5-second ride, taking you up the hill. While we were in the little car, a small child started fussing, “How long are we gonna be on here??” Uh … about 2 seconds more, kid.

Once we emerged from the station, we were on a small parapet, overlooking the whole city. The sunset light was extraordinary. Our views were vast.

In that last one, you can see the Soviet-style high-rises, so famous across the Iron Curtain countries for their ugliness.

Greeting us outside the funicular station, was a huge watchtower, dating from the Middle Ages, the sunset light falling upon it.

Davor had the perfect blend of information and relaxation. He wasn’t hustling us along. We lingered. We stopped. We made jokes. We asked questions. I had said I wanted to see the Cathedral of Zagreb. I don’t think I said that to him specifically, but I had said to Rachel, “Depending on how much time we have, I want to see if I can find the Cathedral.” Oh me of little faith. I had no idea how silly that statement would be, on multiple levels. First of all “I want to see if I can find the Cathedral…” Like the old World Trade Center, all you needed to do was look up in the sky for the spires, and walk in that direction. You couldn’t miss the Cathedral if you tried. I didn’t know Davor’s plan of attack, though. We walked along the upper walkway, autumn leaves already fallen on the stones. He was leading us somewhere, but it felt nice to just go along with it, no questions. As we walked, I saw a gigantic beautiful mural, which seemed to be paying tribute to Nikola Tesla:

At the top of a small flight of stairs was a large stone platform, and suddenly, off to our right, there it was. The Zagreb Cathedral. Words do not do it justice.

See what I mean about having arrived in Zagreb at Magic Hour and what that did to the buildings? The golden glow of light, the stark shadows, unearthing such layers of beauty it was hard to even perceive it in one glance. It quite literally took my breath away. I got caught up in a frenzy of photo snapping and then finally had to say to myself: “Sheila. Stop. Be here. Now. Just look.”

You can look up the church’s history, which goes back 1,000 years, involving destruction, rebuilding, Ottoman invasion, destruction, rebuilding again. It’s the tallest building in Croatia. Clearly, one of the steeples is under construction, so it’s yet another reason for me to come back. Davor joked that the steeple has been under construction for 10, 15 years. Kind of like a couple sections of Route 95. Since Zagreb the city climbs up the hill, you get all of these different vantage points, almost everywhere you stand you get a view, you get SCOPE. And here, we had some scope on that Cathedral although later we would get closer to it.

Following Davor, we walked up a narrow street and he said, “Oh, wait, I want to show you something,” and he took us to a building close by. There were throngs of people around. He pointed at the sign by the door:

I was like, “Oh wait a second, I’ve read about this place!!” I can’t remember where, the New York Times, maybe. Rachel and I burst out laughing when we saw the sign. Rachel murmured, “Is Davor trying to tell us something?” We wandered through the museum. People leave little artifacts from their relationships, accompanied by an index card describing what happened … and it’s kind of a haunting and sad place, beautiful and human but … you know. Let’s just say if you’ve found a partner and it’s lasted and you’re doing well, take a second to be grateful because you’re in the minority.

Rachel: “I definitely have some things I could add to this museum.”
Me: “My entire apartment could go in this museum.”

It was a brief pit-stop – definitely something to spend more time in on my next trip, which is now a done deal. We walked up the narrow street, which was all in shadow, the buildings shielding the street from the sun, but we were approaching a square, in the direct path of the sunset, and it glowed almost … violently, to be honest. The impression of violence was intensified because an enormous church was at the end of the street, in the center of the square we approached, a church with a gigantic slanting roof … and let’s just say St. Mark’s Church has a very unique appearance.

The two coats of arms give the church a nationalistic and almost militaristic look, which – I imagine – was the point. Nationalism and Catholicism have always been closely tied together in Croatia. I’ve never seen anything like this church. And this coming so quickly on the heels of my glimpse of the Cathedral … not to mention the cathedral in Sibenek the day before … Croatia is a country of many many gorgeous churches, each with their own vibe, particularly because of the thousand-year resistance to invasion. Religion takes on a whole new aspect if you are constantly threatened by invasion from the Ottomans. It is this culture-clash which makes Croatia such a fascinating place, it’s what drew me to it in my mind long before I ever came her. I am not a scholar. I am just a tourist who’s read some books, so take it for what it’s worth, but St. Marks has the look of a church that is also a flag. Those coats of arms – one for the kingdom of Croatia/Slavonia/Dalmatia, and one for Zagreb itself – are a warning: This is who we are, this is what we are – and a declaration of national identity, at a location that can be seen for miles away. You look at this and you would be forgiven if you thought, “Okay. I don’t want to mess with these people.”

It’s religion with a sword in its hand.

Set in the middle of St. Mark’s Square, the church is still a “working” church, and – like a lot of the churches we saw – it includes a multitude of styles, suggesting it was built over a succession of different eras, starting in the 14th century. There are Gothic elements, a Romanesque main door – the church was built and rebuilt a number of times. It wasn’t open so we didn’t get to go inside. The portal on the southern-facing door is a show-stopper. Over the door is a series of little niches containing fifteen different effigies. You can see Joseph and Mary and Jesus. There are the 12 Apostles.

It’s absolutely stunning.

St. Mark’s Square is interesting too. If you came there in the middle of the night there would be very little that would remind you you’re in the 21st century. To the left of the church is the Banski dvori, dating from the 19th century, and was the meeting place of the Croatian viceroys. It’s now a government building.

Slanting off on the other side of the church, the sunset light hitting it, was a long yellow building and this is, today, the seat of the Croatian parliament. So they come to work, to do the business of government, 20 feet away from this powerful symbol of religion/nationalism. It’s extraordinary.

Davor was explaining to us how this upper city had different gates into it, dating back to the Middle Ages. He wanted to show us something, so off we went again, away from the crowds. We walked off down the road next to the Parliament building, a steeply tilted cobblestone dead-end street.

As we walked, Davor told us about this particular gate. It had been destroyed in a fire, the only thing left uncharred a small statue of the Virgin Mary. Because of this, it was considered a miraculous site, and so people from all over would come and place tiles of remembrance and thanks to loved ones who had died. While we were visiting, the gate itself was under construction, the street torn up, the walls draped in white cloth … so it had an odd unpeopled vibe. Nobody was there except for us, because it didn’t really look like anything. But Davor showed us it WAS something.

We looked at the beautiful tiles on the parts of the wall not draped by white cloth, and Davor read us some of the messages. “Thank you, Mother.” “We miss you.” “Thank you.” Hvala. (Rachel and I said it as much as we could. To everyone. Waiters. Receptionists. Cashiers.)

Ante helped us SEE. Seeing is different than looking. Davor helped us see too.

Also, something I didn’t know and absolutely love: Upper Zagreb still has gas-lit streetlamps. It is still someone’s job, in the year of our Lord 2018, to go around extinguishing and lighting all the lamps. They are absolutely magical.

Romantic.

Zagreb is romantic.

Despite my cold dead heart, and my lifetime of “broken relationships,” that’s why I want to go back. I want to soak it up. What was amazing about our time in Zagreb – less than 24 hours – was how rich it felt, and how un-rushed we felt. Davor has to be some kind of magician.

We emerged into the lower city, through the gate under construction, and Davor said, “Oh, I want to show you something.” Right at the entrance to the gate is a beautiful statue of St. George slaying the dragon.

Davor said, “This is one of the only [maybe THE only?] statues of St. George and the dragon where the dragon is dead. Most depictions show them still fighting. But in this one he’s dead. Some people think that St. George’s posture here – and how he’s holding his sword against his body – shows that he is showing respect for the dragon.”

There was something about the way he said “Some people think …” I said, “What’s your theory?”

Davor said, “I think St. George is like, ‘You’re dead and I’m still alive and that’s good.'”

I burst out laughing. “I’m with you.” None of this hippie-dippie “I bow in respect and love to my worthy dragon foe” shit. You need to DIE, dragon, and I’m the one to do it.

The entire tour was filled with moments like that. I definitely would not have looked at that statue and thought, “Huh. The dragon’s dead.” Davor brought that little something extra. I will not forget that statue now!

Down in the lower section of Zagreb, the shadows were gathering, although there was still light in the sky. The streets are narrow and hilly, and lined with pubs, shops and … incongruities like this:

It’s such a beautiful city, its layout, the gas lamps, the confectionary-architcture of Austria, the streetcars rattling by, the big trees, lots of open spaces, fountains, parks, bars … Lots of little details. Graffiti everywhere. I snuck pictures of it, because I knew the graffiti upset Davor.

Davor hadn’t given us a plan of attack, we were basically just following him around. Which was kind of great, and gave our “tour” the unrushed feeling that it had. But there was a method to his madness. As we walked, I caught a glimpse of what was ahead of us, only now we were down on its level. This is what I saw as we walked.

A North Star. We were approaching. I was so excited I almost got nervous. Finally, we emerged from the shadow of surrounding buildings into a gigantic open space, and there it was, literally blasted by the Magic Hour light. We all stood still, just staring at the spectacle. Davor LIVES here and even he was in awe, taking a couple of pictures.

What can you even say? Rachel and I were just saying stuff like, “Oh my God” because that was really the only appropriate response. Robert Kaplan had not exaggerated in his book. It really is “all that.” When I go back, I’m going to go to mass here. And in St. Mark’s. You heard it here first. I mean, we could not have picked a better time to visit this church. It’s hard to even tell what color the stones of the cathedral actually are, because the building glowed golden in that light, with stark gigantic shadows falling across the face of the church.

Side note for film buffs: I had already seen this church many times, featured in Orson Welles’ The Trial, which was filmed in Zagreb. (Welles had huge connections in Croatia, and his final partner was Croatian. He planned many projects to be filmed here, in Split, too.) Here’s a scene from The Trial where the Cathedral is prominently featured:

We didn’t speak much as we approached the Church. We weren’t in any hurry. We had arrived at the exact perfect moment when the building appeared to be ablaze in the sun. It was like time stood still,and a kind of beauty flared out of this already extraordinary structure that made it appear almost airborne. Such a huge heavy building, but it appeared to float, like a mirage. It’s the kind of building that will take on different characters throughout the day, in different hours, different seasons. The Cathedral on a rainy day or a snowy day, the Cathedral at twilight, at midnight, at dawn. I want to come back and see it again. I was able to enjoy my time seeing it then – for sure – but I was already thinking, “Okay. This one glimpse won’t be NEARLY enough.”

We went inside and were plunged into almost pitch black darkness. (Kaplan had written about that too.) The interior of the cathedral is vast, and it’s almost all shadows. There’s a stained glass window, and maybe at mid-day it would have been a different scenario, but when we walked inside, we could barely see a foot in front of us. It took my eyes some time to adjust. The space is huge, echoing, and there were people praying, sitting in the pews, but you could barely see them. All around us were little alcoves and corners, with statues, banks of candles, and above us all you could sense was space, endless space going up up up into the darkness above. I didn’t take any pictures of course. We stood at the back, for a while, just looking. The interior was as dark as the exterior was light. It was like walking into a wormhole to the center of the universe. I decided to go over to the holy water basin nearby to dip my fingers and cross myself, and just before I got there I was literally overrun by a clattering group of teenage soccer players – in uniform – all of whom were charging to the basin themselves. I couldn’t fight against that crowd! But it was kind of amusing, like that old scene in a Gloria Swanson movie where she can’t break into the crowd going through a revolving door and keeps getting pushed aside. I tiptoed my way back to Rachel and Davor and Rachel whispered, “Good effort, though.” Then the three of us went to the other holy water basin, on the other side, where we were able to dip, cross ourselves, and pray all in peace. When we came back outside, Davor said, “Those boys in the soccer uniforms – it’s kind of a sad story. This past week their coach – who’s a friend of a friend – was killed in a car accident and he had a student in the car with him.” “Oh no.” “And the student was killed too. So everyone is still very upset.” All of those boys racing to the holy water basin took on a tragic significance.

After our time at the Cathedral, we wended our way back to the hotel, moving through a big open square, with a fountain, lined with all of these extraordinary buildings covered in filigree and little statues and details, all the Hapsburg-frou-frou-ery that went the way of Atlantis post WWI. The old world. Kids were skateboarding around. There were booths set up, selling beer, pretzels, jewelry. It was such a friendly and RELAXED vibe. I’m used to living in a city. But I am not used to living in a RELAXED city. Chicago is a city and it is also relaxed. It’s the best of both worlds, really. Cosmopolitan but CHILL.

I was flying out early the next morning so we made plans with Davor. We were going to miss him.

Rachel and I wandered around the square and then decided to go have some drinks. It had been a long long day. We basically tripped over a bar, small and intimate, doors open to the street, with two seats right at the bar. (We had said earlier in the trip, when we wanted to just sit at a bar and have some appetizers and a cocktail, “Sitting at the bar doesn’t seem to be a thing here …” Oh we of little faith.) We perched on stools, we drank enormous steins of beer, we smoked some more of our cigarettes. The news was on. There was the President, making a speech at the UN, and being laughed at by everyone present. It was like we were on another planet. It was so nice to get a BREAK. We looked at our pictures of the trip, laughing already at some of the memories made. We talked about men and relationships. We relaxed. We had hiked miles that day. We had been up since 6 a.m. It was the perfect end of a really good day.

We went to dinner after that at a place Davor recommended, a couple doors down from our hotel entrance. As we came back to the hotel, I said, “Oh, hey, can we go find that scary passageway again? I want to take some pictures.” When we had arrived in Zagreb, Davor had parked in a little lot, and walked us to our hotel to check in. We walked through a passageway between two buildings, a really wretched spot, covered in graffiti, with fluorescent lights, and I thought it was fabulous. You could definitely be murdered here. Bless Rachel she was like, “Of course we can go find that scary passage again!”

And so we did.

My flight was leaving at 6:15 so Davor picked me up at 5 a.m. Which was some pretty bleak shit. But there he was, perfect and friendly. Our guide. We were so lucky to have found him. They’ve built a new terminal at Zagreb airport – which I think shows the awareness that Zagreb may be a tourist hub in the near future. It’s still a very small and manageable airport. Davor walked me to the gate and we said our goodbyes. He’s a new friend. When I go there again, he’ll be my contact. The world has gotten just a little bit smaller.

I was there early enough I went to get some coffee and ate it in a small outside area, just as the sun was rising. It was freezing. But I had time to spare, so I spent it out there, with my coffee, with a croissant, a heart full of regrets and gratitude. I didn’t want to leave. ZAGREB. CROATIA. I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE.

The coffee was excellent. But not as good as that coffee we had in Trpanj. Nothing can compare to that.

One of our ongoing jokes throughout Croatia had to do with Irish pubs. We tripped over one in Dubrovnik. We laughed about it. Rachel said, “You know there’s an Irish pub in Diocletian’s Palace” somewhere. We kept our eyes peeled for the telltale shamrocks. No go. But then, we came back to our hotel one night and suddenly – at the front door of our hotel – Rachel stopped dead in her tracks and pointed across the street.

Is that the sketchiest place you’ve ever seen in your life? Every time we walked back into the hotel we glanced at it and started laughing. We never saw anyone go in. We never saw anyone come out. And we sure as hell weren’t going to venture over there to investigate.

The way our tour was designed, Ante was going to take us from Dubrovnik to Split. Split is where he lives, so that would be the end of the road for him. Davor would then pick us up and take us on to Zagreb. We would miss Ante. We had gotten very attached to him. We both hugged him when we said goodbye, and I think he was surprised. We discussed him afterwards: “Do you think he liked us?” “I hope he misses us.” “We love Ante.”

We had a long long day ahead of us: Davor was picking us up at 7:30. We had hours of driving ahead of us. In retrospect, I am so glad we got such an early jump on the day. Davor met us in the lobby. We liked him immediately. We’re friends with both Ante and Davor on Instagram and Facebook now. We piled into Davor’s car and off we went. Headed over the mountains again – actually, under at one point, into “continental Croatia” and finally to Zagreb. This would be our longest car ride. As we slipped away from the boundary of Split, the landscape got wilder, as we headed directly towards the wall of mountains.

Once we went through the lengthy tunnel under those mountains, the landscape changed instantly. We drove through a rolling verdant landscape of green fields, sheep, small farms.

Davor told us that this whole area had been really affected by the war in the 90s. We drove by a random cemetery in the middle of a field, guarded by a huge tank. Emptied out of people, Davor said that many never came back. Young people were now moving out of Croatia, in search of better jobs in other countries. Davor chose to stay. A young man in the 90s, who got his degree in political science, he clearly had the foresight to recognize that once the war was over, once the region was safe, tourists would want to come. He worked for a tour company, starting in the late 90s, before striking out on his own with Zagreb Tours. He was right. The tourists did come. We spoke about Bosnia, an inland country, without that coastline, without the possibility of hordes of tourists. A much poorer nation. Croatia’s only export is wine, and their real booming business is tourism. I stared out at those beautiful fields and tried to imagine them war-torn. They were very exposed. It’s just rolling plains, really.

Rachel and I snoozed off and on. But there was a lot to look at outside the windows. After so many days right along the shore, it was interesting to see the inland areas.

Before Zagreb, we were going to spend the morning/mid-afternoon at one of Croatia’s 8 national parks: Plitvice Lakes. Famous for its waterfalls, Plitvice is a series of lakes, at different heights, connected by waterfalls. There are 16 lakes in total, some of them perched high up in the hills, some down at the level of the river. Each of them are connected. It’s all one body of water.

This was such an interesting and fun experience, so different from what we had been doing up until then. We were going to hike along the lakes, and then start the climb, to see the waterfalls, to see the lakes higher up. It was a hell of a hike, people. The day was so chilly people were wearing parkas, and Rachel and I were wrapped up in sweatshirts. But about 20 minutes in, our blood was pumping, because this wasn’t just a small walk along a lakeside. It involved numerous climbs up and up and up. It was rigorous. We were warmed up almost instantly. And, of course, the higher up we went, the more the sun beat down on us. Davor told us that at the height of the tourist season, these wooden-planked pathways among the lakes are a traffic jam of people. It wasn’t like that when we were there, although there were tons of people there.

The paths wind you up and down and around these small lakes and bodies of water, all of which have the most extraordinary colors in them, bright greens, bright deep blues. Davor knows everything about the place and was telling us about how the minerals react with the water and the submerged vines and branches to create those colors. You can’t even believe it’s real, that these colors can be created naturally.

There’s Rachel and Davor. So you can see there are clearly other people there, but we always had space.

They’ve done a wonderful job of not interfering too much with nature. (This is a protected site.) The walkways are made up of planks, and many of the “steps” are just logs dug into the dirt. Eventually, after walking through these beautiful peaceful ponds, you start to hear the rushing of water. And then you get to the show-stopper of the “Big Sprinkler” as it’s called, a large mound of earth – with multiple cascades coming over it. Right around here is where you start to get the vistas around you, steep drop-offs into abysses on either side (once again, Rachel and I found ourselves having to navigate our height-phobias), and the sound of the waterfalls fill the air. There are times when the waterfalls rush underneath the walkways. It’s stunning.

One of the waterfalls had dried up, and Davor said he didn’t want to go past it since it “broke his heart” and this made me love him. He cares about this place. (Rachel also observed to me privately, “That hike didn’t tire him out at all, did you notice?” It really was like he was strolling from the kitchen to the living room. He probably does that hike 3 times a week.) Up and up we climbed. We started to get perspective on where we were. How the ground leveled out, with some blue-jewel-colored lake, or bright green lake, perched on a ledge of land, peaceful and serene, yet leading into yet another waterfall down.

There was also some humor, involving Ante telling us that we were visiting Croatia in what was known in Croatia as “grandmother summer.” We had incorporated “grandmother summer” into our vocabulary in a 2-day period. Ante explained it thus: “Grandmother is almost dead. So is summer.” Rachel and I accepted this without question. Early on in our drive, we somehow mentioned this to Davor and he was like, “What?” He had never heard of it. Which was funny in and of itself. Ante made it sound like it was a common saying. At one point, as we were walking through the lakes and waterfalls, I noticed Davor on his phone. He started to read out loud, “So … grandmother summer …” I immediately burst out laughing. He couldn’t let it stand, he had to KNOW. As we walked along, he read out loud to us. “Grandmother summer” goes by many different names, “Gypsy summer,” “Baba summer,” “Indian summer” – Davor was reading from this page to us – basically what the page was saying was that “Grandmother summer” meant “second youth” – like “Indian summer” – unseasonably warm into October/November. Davor said, “But it’s not like, ‘Granny’s almost dead.'” Hilarity. But maybe that’s how Ante learned it. “Grandmother summer” then took on a whole different aspect. I had told Ante I was going to spread word of the saying through America. Now I have. But now you have Davor’s perspective as well. The game of telephone continues. Oh, and humorously: He was reading it to me as we walked through these walkways, and he said, “Some people say that the saying comes from the mating ritual of the spider -” I exclaimed, “STOP.” At the same moment, he – having read further a little bit – said, “Okay, we don’t need to read that part.” Not because spiders are scary but because maybe he thought that reading out loud about sex – even among spiders – to his American clients – might not have been a good idea. Meanwhile, I just wanted no part of spiders having sex. The whole moment was so funny.

Eventually, we got to a certain height, and took this shuttle bus back down to the parking area. We then had another, like, 2-mile hike even to get to our car. Our legs were wobbly from having gone up, down, up down, for an hour and a half. Davor was going to drive us up to the highest point, so we could get a real perspective on the whole area. This is another great thing about Zagreb Tours. We did the tourist thing (and it was amazing) but then Davor knew a way up to a place not on the tourist track. He drove us up, up, up, and then basically pulled over to the side of the road. Nobody else was up there. We couldn’t see much, we were surrounded by trees. He took us down a path through the woods. You could get the sense of a gigantic DROP off to the right. Through the trees, which clung to an almost vertical wall of dirt. No guardrail, of course. Rachel and I tiptoed along. I couldn’t look to my right. It was too scary. Eventually, we emerged from the trees into a little clearing, that had a small ledge with a stone wall encompassing it.

And here is the view.

I mean …

It’s hard to really get the scale of things into a photo. If you look down around the bottom, you can see the pathway filled with people. The vista was so beautiful we all just fell into silence. And stood there for about 15 minutes, just staring. We also took a selfie with Davor, because come on, of course.

Waterfalls plunged off the cliffs every which way you looked. It made you dizzy just to look at them. On the wooded hillsides across the abyss, you could see the winding pathway we had taken. Like I said, the parks system has done a wonderful job of giving the public access to this beautiful area, without ruining things: the paths are woven into the woods, practically hidden.

Hanging out up there on that little ledge was a necessary breather. We had been hiking, uphill, for an hour. Then we walked around to the vista on the other side, so we could see where we had come from, and also get another perspective. Everywhere you looked was another waterfall.

See that little stone wall across the abyss? That’s where we had been originally.

Once we were up at this level, we were the only ones there.

I’m so glad we decided to fly out of Zagreb, and not backtrack to Dubrovnik (one of our initial plans). But I had wanted to see Zagreb, and so Davor had suggested we do this national park on the way. Zagreb was the real surprise of the trip for me – I’ll get to that in the next post – but seeing this national park, hiking among those blue-green lakes and waterfalls – was really important. It gave just a glimpse of the diversity Croatia has to offer, besides its coastline. I know we barely scratched the surface of things to see. But hiking for hours through that park was beautiful, refreshing, challenging, and the beauty was so extreme I had a hard time even letting it into my brain. (I felt the same way the first time I saw the Grand Canyon. I had to stare at it for like an hour before it even seeped into my head what I was seeing.) The photos I took do not do this place justice, and – like I said – they don’t really capture the heights, the scale of the views.

We hadn’t eaten a thing since our 6 a.m. breakfast. We were STARVING. Staggering back to the car, we were ready for lunch. Davor took us to a place he knew. We devoured it. Talking about our lives, his life. He went to America as a child to visit family, and doesn’t really remember much of it. But he went everywhere. From Toronto to Florida. He didn’t seem inclined to go back. He vacations in Slovenia, to go skiing. He has two kids, been married 12 years, something like that. He seems to really love what he does.

Rachel: “What do you think you need to have to be a good tour guide?”
Davor, after thinking a bit: “You have to like people. And you have to be a good psychologist.”

Fantastic answer.

After lunch?